


The Moon

by caleb_doom



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Disability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sleep Deprivation, sleep disorder that isn't insomnia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 16:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16122587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caleb_doom/pseuds/caleb_doom
Summary: Kanan's always had sleep problems ever since that fateful day. But he never thought it could be like this.Little snippets of a larger AU that I have no idea how to describe yet





	The Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sneak peak at something I've been working on. This is meant to be part of a much larger AU that I'm still working out the details on. Kinda just wanted to see if anyone was interested in a fic dealing with the intersection of PTSD and disability and essentially a recovery arc for Kanan that doesn't involve the Bendu. Writing this middle out and therefore, most is subject to change, especially as I learn more about the SW canon as a whole. More characters and a larger plot will be involved. These are just tiny glimpses of scenes in a small arc I'm relatively happy with that don't reveal too much. Will have frank depictions of mental illness and disability, esp when both act up simultaneously. 
> 
> UPDATE 6/28: My life got really really hectic for a bit there. I took a step back and I intend to completely rewrite this. Some of it will stay but very little. I have a v different mindset now.
> 
> THE MOON (The Fountain Tarot) - "Surrender to Darkness. The world of the unconscious. There is nowhere to anchor, and everything feels confusing and deceptive, though slightly seductive and familiar. Even time seems to be disappearing. It's not too late to turn back, but if you truly want freedom, you will brave the current and surrender to the waves of cosmic intuition. A journey through your shadows."
> 
> TW FOR BRIEF MENTIONS OF MIND INVASION, SUICIDAL IDEATION  
> EDIT: This will be tweaked severely but I'm not sure how just yet.

An overwhelming weight in his shoulder pinned him to the bunk. A static scream, too familiar even disorted, echoed throughout the ship's usually comforting rumble, yanking him into awareness. Not her. Anyone but her. An electric hand squeezed his throat, fear rising like bile as he struggled to fight, breathe, anything. Nothing. Kanan opened his mouth with a strangled croak where his drawl should have been. 

The weight lifted and he scrambled backwards, slamming into the wall of the bunk with frantic, whistling gasps. He couldn't quite believe the buzzing was just. _Gone. _What was that? There were no indications of an injection so he wasn't drugged. This time.__

____

____

"Kanan?" Kark, he must've woken Ezra up. He reached out towards the kid, still panting, and missed. Damn it. "I felt you... uh," he paused. "Panic."

"Just a nightmare." Or Vader rummaging through his mind while he slept again. Kanan tried to shake the violating sensation away. He didn't want to, no, couldn't talk about that. Not yet. Maybe... Maybe when it didn't feel so fresh. Dread prickled at the back of his mind. Could Vader's reach extend this far? They were systems away from Mustafar. Or maybe Sidious had gotten a read on his signature while they... no. It's ok, it's ok, it's ok.

Ezra twisted out of his tightening grasp, worry pummeling the bond. The vaguest sense of suspicion and, Force kriff it, _pity _lapped at the edges. Kanan scowled, disgusted, and wrenched his shields back into place. He was more in control than this, he _had _to be. It wasn't Ezra's job to be comforting him.____

__

__

____

____

"Do you want me to go get Hera?" Ezra asked, trying his best, and failing, to not sound too gentle.

"She needs her sleep." And so did he, if he was honest with himself. "You should get back to bed."

"Uh, alright. If you need anything, just uh... come get me. I guess." The door shut with a soft gust of air.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bunk, resting his face in his hand and sighing deeply. His body still didn't feel quite right, a subtle alertness in his nerves that made everything distinctly sharp. He listened for a moment, just to check, sure nothing was actually wrong. The ship held no notes like what he woke up to. Just him then. 

Something tickled his awareness behind him and he snapped around to look. Fool. Of course nothing was there. Nothing would ever be again. He scooted backwards, sinking into the cold wall. Wasn't three weeks long enough to get used to it?

-

Ezra smacked his head into the side of the bunk. He rubbed the tender spot, checking the chronometer across the room. 0418. Seriously? He took an exhausted breath, dropping to the floor with his blanket draped around his shoulders. 

Zeb groaned, irritated. "Again? That's the fifth time tonight."

Ezra glanced back, "I know, I know. I'll handle it."

It would be fine if he himself was getting any rest but the last few weeks had been an ordeal. It was becoming routine at this point. Kanan would wake Ezra up with his fear in his half-asleep, unguarded state and Ezra would bump him out of the nightmare and go back to bed. But the frequency was increasing at an alarming rate. At this point, he might as well crash in Kanan's cabin. It was a wonder anyone got sleep on the kriffing ship with how often the doors opened and closed, the boys stumbling through the ship late into the cycle. He wasn't upset necessarily, just so very tired. He knew Kanan was too though. Ezra sleepily palmed the door open, announcing himself with a poorly stifled yawn before shaking Kanan's frozen form. 

Kanan muttered out a thanks, frustration tinging his voice, as he scratched at the growing stubble. 

"I'm staying here tonight," Ezra stated as he hoisted himself into the top bunk. 

"You don't have to." 

"Zeb is going to rip someone's arms off if he doesn't get some sleep. Have you heard him going at it with Chopper?"

"It's impossible not to. I'm sorry, this isn't your responsibility."

"What's going on? It's happening more often." He didn't want to say it but the agitation and restlessness over the bond was putting him on edge, making it harder for him to fall asleep to begin with. Ezra had started taking lothcat naps between chores, as much as it annoyed Hera.

\- 

And Kanan knows it's there. But he can't get to it, not through the oppressive emotional void eating him alive. It's not that he's been lacking emotions the last few days but rather they're in the ship over, muffled and far beyond his grasp. He's nothing, nothing's worth it. But Force if he could just feel anything more than a dull, muddy anger. When he tries to articulate it, the storm blitzes past, chaotic and unintelligible, leaving him feeling ridiculous for feeling anything at all. But he needs to at least somewhat be able to parse it out in case some worried crewmate corners him before he's ready. If he's ever ready. Yeah, prepared answers, a strategy. That way he can control a little bit of how everything falls apart. It _will _fall apart.__

____

____

He adjusts his legs beneath him. 

He doesn't know where to start. It'd help if he could even understand what was going on lately beyond extended sleep deprivation, fresh apathy, and the intense nagging feeling that he's a burden on them now. Why did they bother? He's been ruining their collective sleep schedules. He supposes that they've proven time and time again they're really there for him, not what he can do for them, for the Rebellion. But that doesn't stop his spiraling doubts. Everything hurts to the point he isn't sure he remembers what non-pain feels like. He can't recall the concept, much less the actual word for a body simply existing normally. It bleeds into everything he does. Or doesn't do anymore. He can't train Ezra like this. 

He laughs to himself, harsh and bitter. Empty.

Either the Force is really irritated with him or something is up. If he mentions it to Hera, she'll just bring it up with the med droid. And then they'll both chastise him for "not maintaining proper sleep hygiene" and other nonsense he already knows will just make him more frustrated with the whole mess he's become. It has to be the Force. It's angry with him for surviving, yet again. An old itch rises and he grabs his flask from the compartment. He turns it over in his hands, two choices. He takes a swig to drown out the growing appeal of the latter. He wants to feel alarmed he's even considering it. A noncommittal shrug at best. Two more swigs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know which tense worked better and any critiques you may have. I haven't written fiction in a decade (I'm much more of an essay person) so comments are thoroughly appreciated.


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